We finally got our grubby, moist palms on the latest release from the singles-specializing Total Punk label. Too gritty to be lumped in with the SF garage scene for where they hail, Outdoorsmen have long been more systemic of the alpha-mutant breeds that lunge out of Jersey, Detroit or uncharted dustbowls in the Midwest. From the get-go, the Men’s earlier output abandoned a glossy-eyed California approach; this was music opposed to and perpetually assaulting salty-aired boredom. And this latest release pushes their punk tendencies into a territory we could not even dream up. Indeed, if there wasn’t a giant cock on the cover, we might doubt this was the same band.

Both sides shed the former ‘good/bad times’ vibe for a more aggro approach that bounces between the ghosts of GG Allin and Darby Crash. The vocals on the A-side definitely lean toward the latter, issuing lyrics befitting a parable titled, “Violent Hands,” before the hook concretes them with the repeated Circle One-ish mantra of ‘Fol-low Me.’ The flipside is less possession, more gutter punk—we could see the band holding their their own in a ping-pong match of bodily excretion with the maestro himself. This is the grittiest release yet from Total Punk, and we’re of the belief their 7”s will be held in the esteem of the first ten Dischord releases one day. Bold words but serious ones. Buy them here before the well runs dryeth.—SWAMI VISIONS